Part 21
The 'sweet sentimental tragedy' of Agnes de Castro was founded by Mrs. Behn upon a work by Mlle S. B. de Brillac, _Agnes de Castro, nouvelle portugaise_ (1688), and various subsequent editions. In the same year (1688) as Mrs. Behn's _Agnes de Castro; or, The Force of Generous Blood_ was published there appeared 'Two New Novels, i. _The Art of Making Love_.[1] ii. _The Fatal Beauty of Agnes de Castro_: Taken out of the History of Portugal. Translated from the French by P. B. G.[2] For R. Bentley' (12mo). Each has a separate title page. Bellon's version does not differ materially from Mrs. Behn, but she far exceeds him in spirit and niceness of style.
So much legend has surrounded the romantic history of the beautiful Ines de Castro that it is impossible fully to elucidate every detail of her life. Born in the early years of the fourteenth century, she was the daughter of Pedro Fernandez de Castro, major domo to Alphonso XI of Castille. She accompanied her relative, Dona Constanca Manuel, daughter to the Duke of Penafiel, to the court of Alphonso IV of Portugal when this lady was to wed the Infante Don Pedro. Here Ines excited the fondest love in Pedro's heart and the passion was reciprocated. She bore him several children, and there can be no doubt that Dona Constanca was madly jealous of her husband's amour with her fair friend. 13 November, 1345, Constanca died, and Pedro immediately married his mistress at Braganza in the presence of the Bishop of Guarda. Their nuptials were kept secret, and the old King kept pressing his son to take a wife. Before long his spies found out the reason of the Infante's constant refusals; and, beside himself with rage, he watched an opportunity whilst Pedro, on a great hunting expedition, was absent from Coimbra where they resided, and had Ines cruelly assassinated 7 January, 1355. The grief of Pedro was terrible, he plunged the country into civil war, and it was only by the tenderest solicitations of his mother and the authority of several holy monks and bishops that he was restrained from taking a terrible revenge upon his father. Alphonso died, his power curtailed, his end unhappy, May, 1357.
A very literature has grown up around the lovely Ines, and many more than a hundred items of interest could be enumerated. The best authority is J. de Araujo, whose monumental _Bibliographia Inesiana_ was published in 1897. Mrs. Behn's novel was immensely popular and is included, with some unnecessary moral observations as preface, in Mrs. Griffith's _A Collection of Novels_ (1777), Vol. III, which has a plate illustrating the tale. It was turned into French by Marie-Genevieve-Charlotte Tiroux d' Arconville (1720-1805), wife of a councillor of the Parliament, an aimable blue-stocking who devoted her life wholly to literature, and translated freely from English. This work is to be found in _Romans (les deux premiers . . . tires des Lettres Persanes . . . par M. Littleton et le dernier . . . d'un Recueil de Romans . . . de Madame Behn) traduits de l' Anglois_, (Amsterdam, 1761.) It occurs again in _Melanges de Litterature_ (12mo, 1775, etc.), Vol. VI.
A tragedy, _Agnes de Castro_, written by that philosophical lady, Catherine Trotter (afterwards Cockburn), at the early age of sixteen, and produced at the Theatre Royal, 1696, with Powell, Verbruggen, Mrs. Rogers in the principal parts, is directly founded upon Mrs. Behn. It is a mediocre play, and the same can even more truly be said of Mallet's cold _Elvira_ (1763). This was acted, however, with fair success thirteen times. Garrick played Don Pedro, his last original part, and Mrs. Cibber Elvira. Such dull exercises as C. Symmons, _Inez, a tragedy_ (1796), and _Ignez de Castro_, a tragedy in verse, intended for _Hoad's Magazine_ call for no comment.
There is a French play by Lamotte on the subject of Ines de Castro, which was first produced 6 April, 1723. Voltaire found the first four acts execrable and laughed consumedly. The fifth was so tender and true that he melted into tears. In Italian we have, from the pen of Bertoletti, _Inez de Castro_, tragedia, Milano, 1826.
In Spanish and Portuguese there are, of course, innumerable poems, treaties, tragedies, studies, romances. Lope de Vega wrote _Dona Inez de Castro_, and the beautiful episode of Camoens is deservedly famous. Antonio Ferreira's splendid tragedy is well known. First published in _Comedias Famosas dos Doctores de Sa de Mirande_ (4to, 1622), it can also be read in _Poemas lusitanos_ (2 Vols., 8vo, Lisbon, 1771). Domingo dos Reis Quita wrote a drama, _Ignez de Castro_, a translation of which, by Benjamin Thompson, was published in 1800. There is also a play _Dona Ignez de Castro_, by Nicolas Luiz, which was Englished by John Adamson, whose version was printed at Newcastle, 1808.
[Footnote 1: Mr. Arundell Esdaile in his _Bibliography of Fiction_ (_printed before 1740_) erroneously identifies this amusing little piece with Mrs. Behn's _The Lover's Watch_. It is, however, quite another thing, dealing with a pseudo-Turkish language of love.]
[Footnote 2: i.e., Peter Bellon, Gent. Bellon was an assiduous hackney writer and translator of the day. He has also left one comedy, _The Mock Duellist; or, The French Valet_ (4to, 1675).]
THE HISTORY OF _AGNES de CASTRO_.
Tho' Love, all soft and flattering, promises nothing but Pleasures; yet its Consequences are often sad and fatal. It is not enough to be in love, to be happy; since Fortune, who is capricious, and takes delight to trouble the Repose of the most elevated and virtuous, has very little respect for passionate and tender Hearts, when she designs to produce strange Adventures.
Many Examples of past Ages render this Maxim certain; but the Reign of _Don Alphonso_ the IVth, King of _Portugal_, furnishes us with one, the most extraordinary that History can produce.
He was the Son of that _Don Denis_, who was so successful in all his Undertakings, that it was said of him, that he was capable of performing whatever he design'd, (and of _Isabella_, a Princess of eminent Virtue) who when he came to inherit a flourishing and tranquil State, endeavour'd to establish Peace and Plenty in abundance in his Kingdom.
And to advance this his Design, he agreed on a Marriage between his Son _Don Pedro_ (then about eight Years of Age) and _Bianca_, Daughter of _Don Pedro_, King of _Castile_; and whom the young Prince married when he arriv'd to his sixteenth Year.
_Bianca_ brought nothing to _Coimbra_ but Infirmities and very few Charms. _Don Pedro_, who was full of Sweetness and Generosity, lived nevertheless very well with her; but those Distempers of the Princess degenerating into the Palsy, she made it her request to retire, and at her Intercession the Pope broke the Marriage, and the melancholy Princess conceal'd her Languishment in a solitary Retreat: And _Don Pedro_, for whom they had provided another Match, married _Constantia Manuel_, Daughter of _Don John Manuel_, a Prince of the Blood of _Castile_, and famous for the Enmity he had to his King.
_Constantia_ was promised to the King of _Castile_; but the King not keeping his word, they made no Difficulty of bestowing her on a young Prince, who was one Day to reign over a number of fine Provinces. He was but five and twenty years of Age, and the Man of all _Spain_ that had the best Fashion and Grace: and with the most advantageous Qualities of the Body he possest those of the Soul, and shewed himself worthy in all things of the Crown that was destin'd for him.
The Princess _Constantia_ had Beauty, Wit, and Generosity, in as great a measure as 'twas possible for a Woman to be possest with; her Merit alone ought to have attach'd _Don Pedro_, eternally to her; and certainly he had for her an Esteem, mix'd with so great a Respect, as might very well pass for Love with those that were not of a nice and curious Observation: but alas! his real Care was reserved for another Beauty.
_Constantia_ brought into the World, the first Year after her Marriage, a Son, who was called _Don Louis_: but it scarce saw the Light, and dy'd almost as soon as born. The loss of this little Prince sensibly touched her, but the Coldness she observ'd in the Prince her Husband, went yet nearer her Heart; for she had given her self absolutely up to her Duty, and had made her Tenderness for him her only Concern: But puissant Glory, which ty'd her so entirely to the Interest of the Prince of _Portugal_, open'd her Eyes upon his Actions, where she observ'd nothing in his Caresses and Civilities that was natural, or could satisfy her delicate Heart.
At first she fancy'd her self deceiv'd, but time having confirmed her in what she fear'd, she sighed in secret; yet had that Consideration for the Prince, as not to let him see her Disorder: and which nevertheless she could not conceal from _Agnes de Castro_, who lived with her, rather as a Companion, than a Maid of Honour, and whom her Friendship made her infinitely distinguish from the rest.
This Maid, so dear to the Princess, very well merited the Preference her Mistress gave her; she was beautiful to excess, wise, discreet, witty, and had more Tenderness for _Constantia_ than she had for her self, having quitted her Family, which was illustrious, to give her self wholly to the Service of the Princess, and to follow her into _Portugal_. It was into the Bosom of this Maid, that the Princess unladed her first Moans; and the charming _Agnes_ forgot nothing that might give ease to her afflicted Heart.
Nor was _Constantia_ the only Person who complained of _Don Pedro_: Before his Divorce from _Bianca_, he had expressed some Care and Tenderness for _Elvira Gonzales_, Sister to Don _Alvaro Gonzales_, Favourite to the King of _Portugal_; and this Amusement in the young Years of the Prince, had made a deep Impression on _Elvira_, who flatter'd her Ambition with the Infirmities of _Bianca_. She saw, with a secret Rage, _Constantia_ take her place, who was possest with such Charms, that quite divested her of all Hopes.
Her Jealousy left her not idle, she examined all the Actions of the Prince, and easily discover'd the little Regard he had for the Princess; but this brought him not back to her. And it was upon very good grounds that she suspected him to be in love with some other Person, and possessed with a new Passion; and which she promised herself, she would destroy as soon as she could find it out. She had a Spirit altogether proper for bold and hazardous Enterprizes; and the Credit of her Brother gave her so much Vanity, as all the Indifference of the Prince was not capable of humbling.
The Prince languished, and concealed the Cause with so much Care, that 'twas impossible for any to find it out. No publick Pleasures were agreeable to him, and all Conversations were tedious; and it was Solitude alone that was able to give him any ease.
This Change surprized all the World. The King, who loved his Son very tenderly, earnestly pressed him to know the Reason of his Melancholy; but the Prince made no answer, but only this, That it was the effect of his Temper.
But Time ran on, and the Princess was brought to bed of a second Son, who liv'd, and was called _Fernando_. _Don Pedro_ forc'd himself a little to take part in the publick Joy, so that they believ'd his Humour was changing; but this Appearance of a Calm endur'd not long, and he fell back again into his black Melancholy.
The artful _Elvira_ was incessantly agitated in searching out the Knowledge of this Secret. Chance wrought for her; and, as she was walking, full of Indignation and Anger, in the Garden of the Palace of _Coimbra_, she found the Prince of _Portugal_ sleeping in an obscure Grotto.
Her Fury could not contain it self at the sight of this loved Object, she roll'd her Eyes upon him, and perceived in spite of Sleep, that some Tears escaped his Eyes; the Flame which burnt yet in her Heart, soon grew soft and tender there: But oh! she heard him sigh, and after that utter these words, _Yes, Divine +Agnes+, I will sooner die than let you know it: +Constantia+ shall have nothing to reproach me with._ _Elvira_ was enraged at this Discourse, which represented to her immediately, the same moment, _Agnes de Castro_ with all her Charms; and not at all doubting, but it was she who possest the Heart of _Don Pedro_, she found in her Soul more Hatred for this fair Rival, than Tenderness for him.
The Grotto was not a fit Place to make Reflections in, or to form Designs. Perhaps her first Transports would have made her waken him, if she had not perceived a Paper lying under his Hand, which she softly seiz'd on; and that she might not be surprized in the reading it, she went out of the Garden with as much haste as confusion.
When she was retired to her Apartment, she open'd the Paper, trembling, and found in it these Verses, writ by the Hand of _Don Pedro_; and which, in appearance, he had newly then compos'd.
_In vain, Oh! Sacred Honour, you debate The mighty Business in my Heart: Love! Charming Love! rules all my Fate; Interest and Glory claim no part. The God, sure of his Victory, triumphs there, And will have nothing in his Empire share._
_In vain, Oh! Sacred Duty, you oppose; In vain, your Nuptial Tye you plead: Those forc'd Devoirs LOVE overthrows, And breaks the Vows he never made. Fixing his fatal Arrows every where, I burn and languish in a soft Despair._
_Fair Princess, you to whom my Faith is due; Pardon the Destiny that drags me on: 'Tis not my fault my Heart's untrue, I am compell'd to be undone. My Life is yours, I gave it with my Hand, But my Fidelity I can't command._
_Elvira_ did not only know the Writing of _Don Pedro_, but she knew also that he could write Verses. And seeing the sad Part which _Constantia_ had in these which were now fallen into her hands, she made no scruple of resolving to let the Princess see 'em: but that she might not be suspected, she took care not to appear in this Business her self; and since it was not enough for _Constantia_ to know that the Prince did not love her, but that she must know also that he was a Slave to _Agnes de Castro_, _Elvira_ caused these few Verses to be written in an unknown Hand, under those writ by the Prince.
_Sleep betrayed th' unhappy Lover, While Tears were streaming from his Eyes; His heedless Tongue without disguise, The Secret did discover: The Language of his Heart declare, That +Agnes'+ Image triumphs there._
_Elvira_ regarded neither Exactness nor Grace in these Lines: And if they had but the effect she design'd, she wished no more.
Her Impatience could not wait till the next day to expose them: she therefore went immediately to the Lodgings of the Princess, who was then walking in the Garden of the Palace; and passing without resistance, even to her Cabinet, she put the Paper into a Book, in which the Princess used to read, and went out again unseen, and satisfy'd with her good Fortune.
As soon as _Constantia_ was return'd, she enter'd into her Cabinet, and saw the Book open, and the Verses lying in it, which were to cost her so dear: She soon knew the Hand of the Prince which was so familiar to her; and besides the Information of what she had always fear'd, she understood it was _Agnes de Castro_ (whose Friendship alone was able to comfort her in her Misfortunes) who was the fatal Cause of it: she read over the Paper an hundred times, desiring to give her Eyes and Reason the Lye; but finding but too plainly she was not deceiv'd, she found her Soul possest with more Grief than Anger: when she consider'd, as much in love as the Prince was, he had kept his Torment secret. After having made her moan, without condemning him, the Tenderness she had for him, made her shed a Torrent of Tears, and inspir'd her with a Resolution of concealing her Resentment.
She would certainly have done it by a Virtue extraordinary, if the Prince, who missing his Verses when he waked, and fearing they might fall into indiscreet Hands, had not enter'd the Palace, all troubled with his Loss; and hastily going into _Constantia's_ Apartment, saw her fair Eyes all wet with Tears, and at the same instant cast his own on the unhappy Verses that had escaped from his Soul, and now lay before the Princess.
He immediately turned pale at this sight, and appear'd so mov'd, that the generous Princess felt more Pain than he did: 'Madam, _said he_, (infinitely alarm'd) from whom had you that Paper? It cannot come but from the Hand of some Person, _answer'd_ Constantia, who is an Enemy both to your Repose and mine. It is the Work, Sir, of your own Hand; and doubtless the Sentiment of your Heart. But be not surprized, and do not fear; for if my Tenderness should make it pass for a Crime in you, the same Tenderness which nothing is able to alter, shall hinder me from complaining.'
The Moderation and Calmness of _Constantia_, served only to render the Prince more asham'd and confus'd. _How generous are you, Madam_, (pursu'd he) _and how unfortunate am I!_ Some Tears accompany'd his Words, and the Princess, who lov'd him with extreme Ardour, was so sensibly touch'd, that it was a good while before she could utter a word. _Constantia_ then broke silence, and shewing him what _Elvira_ had caus'd to be written: _You are betray'd, Sir_, (added she) _you have been heard speak, and your Secret is known._ It was at this very moment that all the Forces of the Prince abandon'd him; and his Condition was really worthy Compassion: He could not pardon himself the involuntary Crime he had committed, in exposing of the lovely and the innocent _Agnes_. And tho' he was convinced of the Virtue and Goodness of _Constantia_, the Apprehensions that he had, that this modest and prudent Maid might suffer by his Conduct, carry'd him beyond all Consideration.
The Princess, who heedfully survey'd him, saw so many Marks of Despair in his Face and Eyes, that she was afraid of the Consequences; and holding out her Hand, in a very obliging manner to him, she said, 'I promise you, Sir, I will never more complain of you, and that _Agnes_ shall always be very dear to me; you shall never hear me make you any Reproaches: And since I cannot possess your Heart, I will content myself with endeavouring to render myself worthy of it.' _Don Pedro_, more confus'd and dejected than before he had been, bent one of his Knees at the feet of _Constantia_, and with respect kiss'd that fair kind Hand she had given him, and perhaps forgot _Agnes_ for a moment.
But Love soon put a stop to all the little Advances of _Hymen_; the fatal Star that presided over the Destiny of _Don Pedro_ had not yet vented its Malignity; and one moment's sight of _Agnes_ gave new Force to his Passion.
The Wishes and Desires of this charming Maid had no part in this Victory; her Eyes were just, tho' penetrating, and they searched not in those of the Prince, what they had a desire to discover to her.
As she was never far from _Constantia_, _Don Pedro_ was no sooner gone out of the Closet, but _Agnes_ enter'd; and finding the Princess all pale and languishing in her Chair, she doubted not but there was some sufficient Cause for her Affliction: she put herself in the same Posture the Prince had been in before, and expressing an Inquietude, full of Concern; 'Madam, _said she_, by all your Goodness, conceal not from me the Cause of your Trouble. Alas, _Agnes_, _reply'd the Princess_, what would you know? And what should I tell you? The Prince, the Prince, my dearest Maid, is in love; the Hand that he gave me, was not a Present of his Heart; and for the Advantage of this Alliance, I must become the Victim of it--What! the Prince in Love! (_reply'd +Agnes+, with an Astonishment mix'd with Indignation_) What Beauty can dispute the Empire over a Heart so much your due? Alas, Madam, all the Respect I owe him, cannot hinder me from murmuring against him. Accuse him of nothing, (_interrupted_ Constantia) he does what he can; and I am more oblig'd to him for desiring to be faithful, than if I possest his real Tenderness. It is not enough to fight, but to overcome; and the Prince does more in the Condition wherein he is, than I ought reasonably to hope for: In fine, he is my Husband, and an agreeable one; to whom nothing is wanting, but what I cannot inspire; that is, a Passion which would have made me but too happy. Ah! Madam, (_cry'd out +Agnes+, transported with her Tenderness for the Princess_) he is a blind and stupid Prince, who knows not the precious Advantages he possesses. He must surely know something, (_reply'd the Princess modestly._) But, Madam, (_reply'd +Agnes+_) Is there any thing, not only in _Portugal_, but in all _Spain_, that can compare with you? And without considering the charming Qualities of your Person, can we enough admire those of your Soul? My dear _Agnes_, (_interrupted +Constantia+, sighing_) she who robs me of my Husband's Heart, has but too many Charms to plead his Excuse; since it is thou, Child, whom Fortune makes use of, to give me the killing Blow. Yes, _Agnes_, the Prince loves thee; and the Merit I know thou art possest of, puts bounds to my Complaints, without suffering me to have the least Resentment.'